


There's A Chapel In This Hospital

by pepewentz



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 05:03:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4006858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepewentz/pseuds/pepewentz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Petekey AU<br/>Pete Wentz attempts suicide in May 2015, and he's conscious for only a few seconds, and in those seconds he sees Mikey Way, and realizes how much loves him. He recalls all the times that they had together, and the first time that they met in 2005, just before the Warped Tour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One - Waking Up

Waking up was difficult; like trying to run through water, like trying to breath in space. It was like trying to see in darkness. Everything was dark and black and slow in my mind, as if it wasn't working properly and I wasn't functioning properly.

And I wasn't functioning properly. My mind was as messy as a teenagers bedroom, and as fucked up as my life was. My body was as ruined as a drug addict's, and I was as stable as a chair with only two legs.

And I was the one to blame for fucking up my life; for overdosing, for still fighting to be alive, for writing all those songs about that one person, for continuing to fucking breath and letting my heart fucking continue to beat.

I had messed everything up for me and everyone that I knew. I fought with everyone in my band, I argued with my managers, I had rows with my girlfriend. I was a distant father, I was constantly away from my friends, I was spending too much time alone writing songs about all I had fucked up and I was spending too long thinking about those things I did ten years ago.

Everything was too much for me to handle and to be around, and everything just kept getting worse and worse for me. I broke down while just sitting and eating, everything that had kept me alive once before was now killing me. There was no enjoyment in meeting fans and playing the music I had always aspired to play.

The fans who told me how I inspired them to stay alive, and how they were now fully recovered made me want to become the person I once had been again, when I did whatever I want and when I lived on bottles of medication. I was still on medication but it did nothing to affect me anymore, everything was still numb and painful and bleak.

Colour had faded out of my life and taken everything enjoyable with it, leaving me with menial tasks that were grey.

Pretending to be happy through all of it was one of the most difficult things for me. I had to put on a smile and act like making music and writing songs was still my favourite ever thing, like my kids were my favourite people in the world, like kissing my girlfriend still created the same fireworks it did when we first ever met each other.

I dyed my hair repeatedly because I hoped that maybe it may affect how I felt and seeing a bright pink or a bleached blonde in the mirror each morning would bring the colour and the hope and the happiness back into my life.

But it didn't. It reminded me of the futile attempts I made to try and make myself happy and all the times when I was sad before and dying my hair was fun. It reminded me of the attempt on my life I made over ten years ago, and how much I wanted to try something like that again, and take away my pitiful excuse for a life.

And I attempted on my life again, with more than Avitan but still pills that I had to take every day to keep me functioning. I mirrored the attempt that haunted my dreams and clouded my every thought. I longed for my life to have been over back then, and I wished that I had never called my manager and told him what I'd done.

After that, everything turned out to be okay. For a while, things looked upwards. After my band split for a while, I was happy again.

I had a meaning to live; my sons, my friends, my band members, my girlfriends. My band got back together and we made music again. Our fans were as loyal as they were before.

But then everything seemed to be repetitive again, and our fans criticized how we made music, and they disliked the song titles and everything fell apart after I'd tried for so long to make everything okay once again.

Everything came down crumbling and I realised that the walls of happiness I thought that I'd built in stone were actually made from sand. I thought that I had carved my mental well-being into the ground and protected it with all that I could, but in the end - I'd only written it in chalk.

And I couldn't find anything to focus on and make myself feel okay once again after trying for so long. I even tried hurting myself to make myself feel _something_ , just something at all but all that happened was I bled and I continued to feel numb and broken and completely emotionless. It was as if my brain wasn't wired up properly, and everything was wrong. The wire connecting all of my emotions had been cut; the only ones left being emptiness and sadness and the ever looming feeling of death.

And nothing could stop those feelings; writing songs about bass players I'd had summer flings with, spending time with my friends, touring the world and eating Green Tea Kitkats. They induced even worse feelings; knowing that I'd never recover from this depression, and that nothing would ever properly work out for me.

Everyday things reminded me of past lovers and summer flings and sent me even worse; wondering what it would actually be like if we had continued as we were, if I had never called it quits before anyone found out about us. We could have came out, helped each other, helped other kids and people who were struggling because they had been kicked out of their house for being in our relationship like ours; a homosexual one.

And that sent me into even worse spells of horrible emotions and waking up with my heart beating in my chest, my mouth on the edge of many "what if"s every time I spoke about them or to them.

And maybe those "what if"s may ever come true, if I keep on fighting to wake up.

-

And somehow, for some godforsaken reason, through all of the pain, depression and self hate that I had endured, and my what - third suicide attempt, I kept pushing to _wake up_ because I somehow had some hope left inside of me - that maybe, for one last time, everything would turn out okay.

So I continued trying to run through water, breath in space and see through the darkness that was my life and mind.

I took one last step in water, one last breath in space and I opened my eyes for the last time in the darkness and I fell into the light.

The bright white engulfed me, and it blinded me and I felt like I was floating and falling at the same time. Everything happened in one moment but it also lasted for years on end. I felt breathless but I was breathing and then-

I was awake.

-

I didn't open my eyes when I first woke; I took in everything else. I could feel needles pressed into my veins and the beeping of monitors all about me and there was a tube going through my nose.

The smell was horribly sanitary. It smelled of hand wash and sterile everything. There was very little talking - a few mumbled words of "are you okay" and then a very unconvincing "yes" to reply to the person who had asked. Then there was sniffles.

I kept my breathing level and easy, trying not to show that I was awake to everyone.

"I'm going to go and get a cup of coffee. Do you want one?" The same voice asking if someone was okay asked to the yes person.

"Yeah. Ill stay here. You can all go and get coffee." A voice said and then there was more talking and speech as more people stood up and chairs scraped against the floor.

The door opened and most of the voices drifted away until one said,

"He'll be okay. Trust me, Mikey."

And then the door slammed shut and I opened my eyes and I looked straight ahead at one face, the one person I'd always loved and probably never stopped loving.

Michael James Way.

And his eyes connected with mine and his full face lit up and his puffy red eyes from crying had crinkles because he was now smiling.

And I smiled back and I managed out two words to him, "I'm okay." And then I fell back into the darkness before I could try not to and I was falling away from the light.

I replayed the moment over and over in my head until I knew exactly each movement that Mikey had made, every word that had been uttered, the exact look of happiness on Mikey's face when I had opened my eyes and looked directly at him.

But now my words had no meaning because I wasn't okay - I wanted to be awake again. I wanted Mikey, I wanted to be with him and I wanted to be back awake in the hospital with him.

But there was only one thing I exactly knew for sure in that moment; I loved Mikey Way more than I loved anyone, and that I wasn't quite dead.

Not yet. I was on the edge of consciousness but I wasn't really there, and I wasn't really dead but it seemed to be luring me further.

But those few seconds of consciousness were what I'd worked so hard to get and I couldn't give in to death - not just yet. It had been what I wanted but now it seemed like the worst thing because I have hope for once and I reason to live.

And even of my reason to live doesn't love me back I'll still be alive and that's one of the best things that will have happened.

Those few seconds of life brought back many memories of Mikey Way that we had together and we spent together.  


	2. Chapter Two - Hospitals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petekey AU  
> Pete Wentz attempts suicide in May 2015, and he's conscious for only a few seconds, and in those seconds he sees Mikey Way, and realizes how much loves him. He recalls all the times that they had together, and the first time that they met in 2005, just before the Warped Tour.

The first time I met Mikey Way was in a hospital. It was early 2005, and we were in the same ward together, both of us for overdosing.

And I don't think that either of us intended to wake up or end up alive. But we both did and that worked out for the better, at least I hope it did. Because those weeks in the hospital together shaped us and our relationship for the next couple years, and they affected me permanently.

-

I woke up in the hospital slowly, my mind fuzzy and groggy.

My entire body felt numb, and the needles in my arms and the beeping monitors around me made me feel even worse they led to the realisation that I was alive, and I hadn't succeeded in ending my life.

I opened my eyes incredibly slowly, and the light of the hospital was blindingly bright.

It smelled clean and spacious and empty - which it basically was. The room had two beds, but my vision was too fuzzy to see who was in the other. I only saw that a person was awake and eating something slowly.

Gradually my vision began to clear. The man next to me looked ill - his eyes were sunken, his hair messy and he had the demeanor of someone who hadn't slept in ten years.

I took my eyes away from him as my vision was covered by someone hugging me and the sound of loud sobs was all that I heard.

There was two more people hugging me and I could barely breathe. I didn't want people to be like this - I didn't deserve people to be this kind to me after I had tried to rip myself away from them and end my life.

And finally, after what had seemed like hours, they all let go and I could see who it was who had been hugging me.

"Pete, thank fucking God that you're okay. We were all so worried I haven't slept in days I just wanted you to be okay so much oh god-" Patrick said in a rush, before breaking off into sobs again, but at the same time he was smiling down at me.

He looked like he hadn't slept in days, exactly as he'd said. His eyes were red and puffy, his glasses askew and his hair a complete mess.

Joe and Andy looked equally awful. Joe lived on coffee, but looked like he'd drank too much, and didn't look like he was excited - he looked happy, but all of the caffeine seemed to have drained him. Andy's hair was greasy and he had a crumpled shirt on and his lip was trembling, like he either wanted to cry or say something.

"Sorry, 'Trick. And sorry to Joe and Andy as well. I just can't be alive anymore. It's killing me and the only thing I can do to get rid of that feeling is kill myself." I explained, trying to summon the words to correctly explain myself but I really couldn't. I couldn't explain all the thoughts flying through my head that never stopped, and that was the only way that I could.

I knew that my apology couldn't cover up all of the tears I'd made them cry and the sleepless nights that they had had and the endless coffee that they had drank just to make sure that I'd woken up. But I could try.

"But why, Pete?" Patrick asked and suddenly I was at a loss of words because I couldn't sum up all the feelings that I'd had and just put them into a sentence or two to explain what I was going through.

"Just everything. All the medication I was taking made me feel like shit because I was messed up and even when I took it I felt the same and I was just so depressed. Fuck, I can't really explain all of it. I was messed up and I messed everything up." I take a while to think of the right words to convey everything I was going through. And even then I failed horribly and couldn't enunciate barely any of it.

"Why didn't you talk to us about it? We could have helped you, Pete." Joe says to me, the raw emotion in his voice, striking me harder than you'd expect. I've upset them, I know it and they know it as well.

"I didn't want to burden you or worry you or make you actually have to care about me. I don't deserve you to actually give a shit about me." I sat myself up in the bed and look at them.

I can see the person in the other bed looking over at me and he gives me a reassuring smile, putting his bowl of soup down on a tray beside his bed.

"We do care about you, Pete. If we didn't we'd be busy holding auditions for our new bassist and laughing because you tried to overdose, but we're here and we haven't slept for days. We've all had fits of crying whenever your heartbeat slowed down or you missed a breath. We care, Pete." Andy speaks for the first time to me and he wipes his eyes as he speaks and I feel worse than I did before I took all of those pills.

"I don't deserve your care though. I ruin our band and my lyrics are shit and everyone hates me. I really don't deserve anything, or you to be my friends." I choked on my words because they just don't understand how much bad I do constantly and how much pain I cause them on a daily basis, and how it hurts for me to fuck everything up for them.

"Pete - we all fucking love you. If you actually died I wouldn't be able to attend your funeral because I wouldn't be able to accept the fact that you're dead and I couldn't have done anything to stop you from dying." Patrick looks me straight in the eyes, grabbing onto my hand as he speaks to me. I started to reply, raising my voice slightly, explaining that he really shouldn't love me because of how much of a bad person I am.

"We'll go and get you some food, Pete. Then we've got to go and tell everyone that you're okay, because everyone is worried." Joe cut me off, mid sentence, running a hand through his hair before walking off with Patrick and Andy, trying to stop the argument.

I sigh and sink down in the bed, shaking my head as they walk out of the room. Andy closes the door behind him, glancing back at me and smiling. I close my eyes and pull the sheet over myself, wanting to hide and die.

"They do care about you, you know." A voice came from above the covers. It has a Jersey accent, and seemed tired but had a sense of caring.

I pulled the sheet off of my face and rested it under my chin, looking at the only other person in the room who could have said it.

"They shouldn't, though." He shook his head at my reply, sitting up further on his bed and looking straight towards me.

"I overdosed as well. I'm Mikey Way, by the way. " He told me, and I raised my eyebrow at him, wondering if he was the same Mikey Way as the one I had a crush on - the one in My Chemical Romance. I pushed the feeling down inside of me, trying to hide the fact that I had a crush on the guy who was sat across from me in a hospital, telling me that I mattered.

"Pete Wentz. So I'm guessing you're Mikey Way from Mychem?" I sat up in my bed, looking more closely at Mikey. He had all the features I love about him - his messy brown hair, his light brown eyes that looked amber in the light and summer days, and even though I couldn't see them - his legs.

Fucking Mikey Way's legs. They seemed to go on for miles and what I'd do to have those legs wrapped around my waist, his hands in my hair and his-.

I was distracted from my thoughts by him talking to me, and I looked up from staring at the wall and over at him again.

"Yeah, I am. I sort of put one of our recording sessions on halt for this, but I'm not allowed to be out of this hospital for like another three weeks." He sighed after speaking and I ran a hand through my hair.

"A nurse hasn't been for me yet, but I don't know how long I have to stay here for. If it's longer than a week I'm going." I spoke lazily and tried to act as if I was just talking to one of my friends and not my crush for nearly two years.

"I'm pretty sure you're not allowed to just walk out of hospitals unless the doctors say you can." He smiled at me and I got a feeling in my chest that I hadn't felt for years - I felt mushy, happy, and like there was no better situation than this one.

"Well I'm international superstar Peter Wentz and I'm pretty infamous for being a dick and doing whatever I want, so I'm going to walk out of this hospital, no matter what any stupid nurse or doctor says." I smile at him and try to not hide the new feeling that I had - but now in the pit of my stomach.

It felt cold and numb and horrible. Because so many fucking people hated me because I was in a band and I'd had boyfriends and because I'd had dick pics leaked.

"I've tried that before. I overdosed a couple months back and when I woke up I just walked straight out. I fainted straight after though, and had to be taken back to the hospital." He recounted the memory as if it was one of many and, to be brutally honest, it probably was.

"How did you know that I'd overdosed - and why did you?" I felt awkward asking the question and he pauses for a moment, his expression and smile faltering. But then he forced on a smile and began talking to me again.

"Your friends - Patrick, Joe, Andy and Beebo were talking and they were all crying occasionally. I heard them talking about you overdosing on medication -  Avitan, I think it was. I overdosed by accident, and that's all I'm going to say." Mikey seemed more restrained and forced with his speech now, but I continued talking, acting like I hadn't noticed.

"C'mon! It's not like I can tell anyone," I grinned at him, "All the media thinks I'm bullshit and everyone hates me anyways. You have to trust some people, Mikey Way."

Mikey just shook his head at me, as the door opened and a nurse walked in, holding a clipboard and a bottle of medication in his hand, and he walked straight over to me.

Mikey seemed more relieved as the nurse began interrogating me about all the why's and the what's about my overdose and I wished that the nurse would fuck off and leave me to talk to Mikey in peace and just be left alone with him so we could talk for hours. About our bands, ourselves, our lives, our experiences and our siblings and everything that has happened to us that led up to this moment.

"How many pills did you take?" The nurse asked me, looking at the heart and breathing monitor, scribbling down notes. He looked bored and as if this was what he had to do every day -  which he probably did have to do.

"Why do you want to know?" I asked him, acting cocky and sarcastic. He and Mikey sighed at the same time, and the nurse rolled his eyes at me. I glanced over to Mikey and he shook his head but he seemed to be laughing so I continued with being a dick to the nurse.

"Sir, do you want us to care for you properly and make you better or not? We can either give you correct medication and health care. Or we can guess if you refuse to tell me and possibly give

you the incorrect dosage and make you even worse." He was as cocky as I was, but his voice was dull.

"Well, it's my personal information, I don't think that a stranger should want to know that information. You could tell the press or the media and then I'd have another scand-" He cut me off halfway through my speech, getting bored of my rants, and acting completely unamused.

"Okay, listen here.  I don't care if you're Pete Wentz. The president could be here, and I still wouldn't care. You're a patient and I need to care for you. None of the media know you're here and nor do they care what you're doing. We did some scans and we guessed around 30 or 40 pills, so just tell me if it's around there, okay?" He smiled sweetly at me with the last word, and I was the one to roll my eyes at him this time.

"Yes, it was." I glanced over to Mikey and he was just watching me and the nurse having our argument. He looked away as soon as we caught eyes, and a red flush creeped into his cheeks.

"Okay, so was the medication you overdosed on Avitan? We asked your friends - Joe, Andy and Boobe or whatever his name is, and they said that you had. But we have to clarify with you." He asked, standing at the edge of my bed now, looking at me. He held his clipboard close to his chest so that I couldn't read what he had wrote, making me sigh inwardly.

"Yes. And can you go now. Because you're pissing me off and I really would like to fucking punch you." I spoke slowly, trying to keep myself as rational and civilized as possible.

It didn't really work but the nurse walked away, holding both of his hands up, the clipboard and pen in his left hand as he did.

"Pete Wentz, you are an absolute fucker." Mikey laughed as he spoke, and I grinned at him, as the door slammed behind the nurse and Mikey and I laughed together across from our hospital beds, because yeah, that's what regular people do.

-


	3. Chapter Three - Medication And Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petekey AU  
> Pete Wentz attempts suicide in May 2015, and he's conscious for only a few seconds, and in those seconds he sees Mikey Way, and realizes how much loves him. He recalls all the times that they had together, and the first time that they met in 2005, just before the Warped Tour.

"'Trick?" I looked up to my best friend as a I spoke to him.

"Yeah, Pete?" He answered me back, sitting down on a chair beside my hospital bed. I was still hooked up to the breathing and heart monitor and the beeping was becoming monotonous and annoying now.

"Do you know when I'm going to be let out? The nurses or doctors haven't told me and I just want to get out of this place." The words came out of my mouth before I actually considered what I was asking for and exactly why I was asking Patrick.

Well, I guess it was because I just wanted to get out of the hospital, even if Mikey Way was here. I couldn't spend this long in here when our album would be released soon, we had to go on tour and I had to be with my friends if they still liked me - which they probably didn't in the first place.

"Uhh, around two weeks, Pete. They've got to make sure you're okay, prescribe you some medication-" Patrick tells me but I interrupt him mid sentence, groaning.

"More medication? Fucking hell, isn't giving me medication bad? Like, it's what I _fucking just overdosed on_." I threw my hands up into the air as I spoke to Patrick, and shook my head at the idea of giving me more meds.

"Well, uhhh - the medication will make you won't want to overdose again and it'll help you, Pete. You'll be okay after these two weeks have passed, you'll be in full health, then we can release From Under The Cork Tree, go to the shows and concerts and The Warped Tour and everything will be good." Patrick said to me, smiling.

But I didn't feel like smiling because fucking everything was filled with pills and medication in my life, my mind wasn't working properly so they had to do something about it and that was just give me pills to numb me even more.

"I won't be in fucking good health, Patrick. Ill be on fucking more medication than I ever have and-" I begin but Patrick softly hits my leg and speaks over me.

"The medication will help you function properly so you're okay and then we'll all have Pete back, so shut up. You'll be off of it when you're okay again." He says and I want to argue back to him but I know that he won't understand. I've been on medication for fucking years, I'm still taking it now and I'm no better than I was in the first place.

"Pete, _fucking trust me._ You're going to be okay and you're going to be happy." Patrick adds and I nod at him, smiling.

The door to the room opened quickly and Joe and Andy walked in, looking better than they had earlier. Joe still had dark circles under his eyes but he was eating cereal from a bowl. Andy looked like he'd had a shower because his hair wasn't greasy anymore and he looked refreshed and healthier.

"Hey, Patrick - we've got to go and do an interview or an acoustic show somewhere. Pete, we'll be back in like a day or something because it's like two states over. We gotta go." Joe says to us and Patrick stands.

"We'll be back soon, Pete. And we can call or text you whenever you want, so don't be afraid to shoot us a text any time you want because we're here for you, and you can't forget that, alright?" Patrick says to me and I nod back at him as he walks out of the room with Joe, looking back and smiling at me.

Half heartedly, I smiled back at them and as soon as the door closed behind them, Mikey Way began speaking to me again, as he had earlier.

"They're right again, you know. Sorry for being such a smart ass about it but they really are, Pete. The two weeks will go by quickly and then you'll be out and the medication you're on will make you feel okay. Doctors know their shit, man." Mikey ran a hand through his hair after he spoke, and I just shook my head at him.

"I know but like - I'm on fucking meds for lots of shit right now and they're just giving me more when medication is what I overdosed on in the first place. It makes no fucking sense at all, Mikeyway." I grinned at him as I spoke despite the topic and where we were because he was Mikey Way and I was talking to him in person, and that's all that I really wanted.

"It does make sense because you'll fucking recover and it will induce dopamine or whatever it is in your head, and that makes you fucking happy. Happy people don't kill themselves." Mikey was sat in his bed now and facing me, shaking his head.

"Actually, Dr Way, I didn't want to kill myself. I just had all these fucking thoughts in my head and I wouldn't stop thinking so I just wanted it to stop. So that's why I overdosed, okay? I didn't want to kill myself." I spat the words at him quickly and rolled my eyes, punching one of the monitors beside me.

The screen flickered slightly and then returned to normal.

" _And,_ Dr Way, you haven't told me why you're here and why you tried to overdose. You can't just get out of it - I told you mine _twice_." I added and he just shook his head at me.

"I overdosed, alright? That's all you can know about it, Pete. Like you said to the nurse earlier, it's personal information." He used my own words against me and I stuck my middle finger up at him.

"That's because it was a fucking random nurse and not someone who I _actually know_. And you can trust me, Mikeyway." I smiled at him so I could reassure him and convince him to tell me.

"I don't know if I can, Wentz. There's always that one bad guy in comics and games who wants to know stuff about people just to blackmail them. And in this situation, it's you." Mikey seemed a lot less awkward speaking to me than he did in interviews or on stage. Maybe it was because I calmed him - but I didn't really calm anyone at all.

"And you're the one who copies everyone else, because I'm pretty sure that I'm the asshole character who no one likes. And currently, you're copying my asshole character." I smiled lopsidedly at him and then he blushed.

And _holy shit_ , did he look cute when he blushed. His cheeks went completely red and he looked away and I could see it visibly how awkward he was.

"Hey, there isn't a character trope like that in anything, Pete. There's always the token PoC character, the token gay charac-" He began but then I cut him off, making a smart ass comment.

"I guess I'm the token gay character in my life, then. I'm always having to tell people about me being gay and reminding that gay isn't a synonym for shitty when they use it as an insult, but I guess that's how life goes, isn't it?" I turned my comment into a shitty memoir and mentally cursed myself, and then Mikey spoke to me, sincerity, a sense of happiness and revelation in his voice.

"I'm the token gay character in my life as well, Pete."

~ 


	4. Chapter Four - Hospital Food and Petey Pan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petekey AU  
> Pete Wentz attempts suicide in May 2015, and he's conscious for only a few seconds, and in those seconds he sees Mikey Way, and realizes how much loves him. He recalls all the times that they had together, and the first time that they met in 2005, just before the Warped Tour.

**Mikey's POV**

"Oh dear Mikeyway, will you please attend a wonderful and delicious homecooked meal with me?" Pete's voice dripped with sarcasm as he spoke to me but I nodded anyways, pushing my glasses up my nose.

He was probably the only person who could say anything to me and I'd agree to it, because his voice was enchanting and everything about him was fucking amazing. His face, his hair, his voice, his legs, his arms, his tattoos, his  _everything._

Pete Wentz was perfect, to put it simply. Every single thing about him was amazing, even though he didn't see that about himself.

"Of course I would, Petey Pan, it would truly be a blessing to eat dry, undercooked, hospital food with the emo king. Will we be wearing eyeliner and listening to whiny punk music as we do?" I smiled at him as I spoke.

Pete swore at me, laid back down in his bed and turned away from me.

"I'm not the emo king! And you make whiny punk music as well, so you can't even say anything about what Fall Out Boy makes!" Pete said moodily, and I rolled my eyes at him.

"So you admit that you listen to my band? That's cute, Pete. But not that punk rock of you." I teased him about it.

Truthfully though, all of Pete Wentz was cute.

"You called me Petey Pan! That's not punk rock of you either. We're both not as punk rock as we make ourselves out to be. But I am as emo as everyone else makes me out to be. An overgrown rebellious phase that I never left." Pete rolled over and faced the ceiling, spreading his arms out.

His face looked amazing in the light; his cheekbones illuminated, his hazel eyes the colour of whisky with the light reflecting off them, how perfectly shaped his lips are and that just made me think of how much I wanted to kiss him whenever I saw.

"But you haven't grown since you were three years old, Pete. You still have the height and the mentality of a three year old." I smirked at him as I snarkily replied to him, trying to crush down his stupid metaphors into silly jokes.

"At least I can properly play the bass, Mikeyway. And at least I move around on stage." Pete retorted, meanwhile putting his middle finger up at me.

Even then, Pete was fucking hot. He had a stupid half grin on his face, and I could see his dorky skinny jean covered leg sticking out from under the hospital blanket. He was wearing a band shirt - Metallica. 

He had argued with the nurses for over two hours after Patrick, Joe, and Andy left, to let him put on normal clothes. They told him that it was unsafe and that his clothes could possibly be contaminated with a disease but Pete continued to yell at them until they let him.

Throughout the endeavour I just rolled my eyes at Pete. But then I was kind of being hypocritical because I'd gotten Gee to sneak me in some normal clothes to wear.

" _I_ can actually play bass better than you, Pete. And at least I don't embarrass myself in public by wearing stupid fur boots and eyeliner as thick as - as - as you." I smiled while ' arguing ' with Pete because who wouldn't? Pete was fucking amazing, and there was no doubt about that.

"Fuck off, Mikeyway. And weren't we supposed to be going to have some food?  _Hmmm_? You just turned it into an argument. Gerard would probably be ashamed of you." Pete turned it all into my fault - which it actually was.

"Oh, fuck you!" I laughed at him, shaking my head at him at the same time. Pete laughed as well, his eyes crinkling and a huge grin spreading across his face. How could someone be hot, cute and dorky at the same time? Other than Pete - probably fucking noone. 

Pete combined all the best things about the person in one tiny bundle. He had everything that everyone wanted to be but didn't notice it and acted like he was the shittest person in the world.

"So are we going to go and get some food or not? Because I'm really fucking hungry and looking at your face for this long has made me ill." I said the last sentence as a joke, because if I could look at Pete's face for hours on end, then I would. He was fucking beautiful, and it made me sad that Pete never actually saw that in himself. The shape of his lips, how beautiful his eyes were, his hair in whichever style he has it, his everything.

"Okay then, Mikeyway. Don't get so frustrated about how fucking goddamn sexy I am." Pete blew a kiss in my direction as he stood up from his hospital bed, smiling lopsidely at me.

"So are we gonna fucking go and get some food or not, Mikeyway?" Pete said and I nodded to him, smiling back like an idiot, overwhelmed by how I was here with my fucking crush from Fall Out Boy, how it was a one in a million chance that we were both in the same fucking hotel room, at the same fucking time, after overdosing on the fucking same day.

And luck had never really gone my way, but maybe now it was. Because just being around Pete Wentz made me more happy in general, and that maybe was my way to recovery. Being around Pete.

And even though that situation was impossible - me being around Pete constantly, I could hope for it to happen. I've got two weeks to spend with him, and two weeks to set my head on the way to recovery. And it isn't that long. But I haven't been for two weeks before without getting my fix, and hopefully Pete could change that.

Gee would probably be proud of me, even if was only two weeks of being clean.

"Yeah, we're gonna fucking go and get some shitty hospital food, Pete. And try not to throw all of it up." I replied to him, trying not to get that lost in my thoughts.


End file.
